


Persuasion

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, M/M, One of My Favorites, Post Gauda Prime, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patience, position, changing your mind, and the navy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally published in the zine ['Pride and Prejudice'](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pride_and_Prejudice_\(Blake%27s_7_zine\)) (ed. Aralias, 2015). You can read other fics from this zine by searching [the collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/PrideandPrejudice). You can also purchase your very own copy of the zine by contacting the publisher.

After the Andromedan War had begun, they met twice more aboard the Liberator.

“You meant what you said,” Avon said, almost a question and yet not quite committed to being one, as though he couldn’t quite decide whether to admit to caring or not. 

Blake looked up at him fondly from the medical-unit bed. Someone else might have felt vulnerable with Avon looming above them, darkly dressed and glowering, but Blake _had_ meant what he’d said. He trusted Avon completely. He’d left the flight deck of his ship to Avon at what was possibly the most important hour in the Liberator’s history, and Avon had held the gap. The sensible thing to do would have been to run – the Federation was on its way, and the Liberator was massively outnumbered. But Avon had held the gap and was still holding it.

“Yes,” Blake said, letting his eyes flicker shut and his mouth curve upwards. “I meant it.”

“As you might imagine, I feel rather differently about you,” Avon said.

Not unexpected, or entirely unwarranted, but it was typical of Avon to barge in on him while he was still weak and doped on pain-meds just to tell him that he was untrustworthy. Blake chuckled slightly, choosing to be amused rather than upset. 

“Well, I know I haven’t done much to deserve it.”

“I am besotted with you,” Avon said. “I have been from the day I met you. I am ardently and completely in love with you.” 

Blake had opened his eyes at the end of the first sentence, and had struggled to prop himself up through the rest of Avon’s speech. At the end of all of that he still hadn’t thought of anything to say, and still wasn’t sure that he had heard what he knew he had heard. 

“ _What_?” he said.

“And no,” Avon said. “You haven’t done much to deserve it.” 

“You’re serious,” Blake said, not quite daring to let that be a question either. He knew his mouth was hanging open unattractively and his breathing had gone funny. “You’re in love with me? _You_ are.”

“Yes,” Avon said. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but I’m about to die for you and it seemed fitting. I don’t expect it to change your mind about what we’re doing here, or mean much of anything to you, but since this is a day of declarations––” He shook his head, as though he’d only just realised the folly of what he’d said. “I should get back to the flight deck.”

“Wait a moment,” Blake said, feeling anger flare inside him. Even as Avon was telling him he loved him, something Blake could barely comprehend, he was dismissing Blake and anything he might have to say. “Avon, _wait._ Turn around, talk to me.” 

Avon swivelled on one foot and turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised in invitation.

“What do you mean, you don’t expect it to mean anything to me?” Blake demanded.

“Well, you said you trusted me,” Avon said. “I’m not ungrateful, it’s nice to know you don’t despise me, but _trust_ is a consolation prize––”

“No, it isn’t,” Blake snapped. “It _isn’t_ , Avon,” he said insistently as Avon opened his mouth to protest. “And it’s not incompatible with what you said, either.”

“What I said?” Avon repeated as though he could hardly remember what that had been.

“I couldn’t risk frightening you off,” Blake said. “I wasn’t brave enough to make the same declaration you’ve just made, but I should have done.” He reached out a hand to Avon, who was still scowling warily at him. “I can’t claim to have loved you from the beginning, Avon. I only realised how I felt when you came back from XK72. But I _am_ in love with you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Avon said after a moment 

“Well, you _should_ ,” Blake shouted. His voice cracked with anger and despair. Avon, ridiculous Avon, stubborn, proud Avon, was about to walk out, and Blake wasn’t even sure he would be able to run fast enough to catch him, let alone convince him if he did. “ _I_ believed you. You see, this, Avon, is why _trust_ ––”

He was cut off as Avon kissed him: a desperate, starving kiss that Blake returned with equal fervour. His ribs hurt, and stupidly he still felt on the brink of tears, but Avon was pressed against him now, Avon was with him now, and whispering Blake’s name against his lips. 

A plasma bolt from the alien ships hit the side of the Liberator hard enough that the medical equipment shuddered and a scanner slid onto the floor. 

“I really should get back,” Avon said, climbing off Blake with a regretful smile. He pulled his hand gently away from Blake’s. “I won’t see you again. Unless, of course …” He let that hang.

“Unless?” Blake said. He scanned Avon’s face for clues and found them in the embarrassed crease between Avon’s eyebrows and the rueful curve of his lips. 

“You want me to abandon the ship,” he concluded. 

Avon said nothing, which seemed to confirm that particular diagnosis. Another blast shook the deck with more impact this time. The force wall was failing, gradually lessening with each successive moment and each successive blast. They were down to minimal power and most of it was being siphoned off into the neutron blasters. 

Blake looked at Avon, whose hair was still mussed where Blake had clutched him, and whose mouth was still wet where Blake had kissed him, who didn’t want to die and didn’t care particularly about the downfall of the Federation, but who was staying and holding the line because Blake had asked him to. He thought of Vila, who had only ever wanted to settle down somewhere with a pretty girl and a large pile of someone else’s credits; of Cally, who’d had nowhere else to go; and Jenna, who had only ever _wanted_ to believe. None of them deserved to die for this cause – but then neither did the people on the worlds below, which would be devastated by the Andromedans if the Liberator left too early. 

If only Avon _hadn’t_ asked, Blake thought – and then felt disgusted by that thought. It was Avon’s right to want to live. He had never concealed it, and Blake valued him more because he knew how much Avon wanted to be safe and how much strength it took to resist that impulse. Even now Avon wasn’t insisting that they leave. He wasn’t even really asking.

“How long until the Federation gets here?” Blake said.

“Thirty minutes,” Avon said. “At least, that’s what they say. Zen thinks it could be more like forty.”

Blake made a few further mental calculations. From the reports he’d been monitoring when Avon had come in, the Liberator had perhaps twenty minutes left before the force wall collapsed completely. Life support was already failing. The navigation computers had taken a hit early into the battle and Jenna had been flying on manual for almost two hours. The Andromedans hadn’t managed to widen the gap in the defence grid, which meant that only one ship could come through at a time. They didn’t seem to be fast ships, or particularly resilient – there were just so many of them. If the Liberator left now, perhaps only ten or fifteen of them would be on this side by the time the Federation arrived. The Andromedans might not even make it to the planets below before they were intercepted by pursuit ships.

“All right,” Blake said. “Tell everyone to evacuate. We’ll regroup and return to the Liberator _when_ it’s safe.”

It _was_ possible that nobody on the planets below would be hurt because of this decision. Blake had to believe it, or accept that he was the kind of man who put his friends and his own life before the lives of countless millions he didn’t know.

Avon looked like a man on death row given a reprieve, which was very nearly the truth. He looked almost too surprised to be happy. 

“You mean that, don’t you?” he said, coming closer to the couch Blake was lying on. “What about everyone else? The countless unwashed masses?“

“They’ll manage,” Blake said. Slowly and painfully, he swung his legs over the side of the medi-bay couch. He didn’t expect any help, but Avon returned to help him stand, letting Blake lean heavily on his shoulder. The Liberator was jostled again by another bombardment of alien weapons, and Avon gripped Blake more tightly to keep him steady.

“Get Orac,” Blake told him. “Get Jenna to transfer to the automatics. I’ll meet you by the life capsules. It’ll take me a while to walk there.”

Avon pulled him into another fierce kiss, and then let him go. The news that they could leave had finally sunk in – and _now_ he looked happy. Blake had never seen Avon beaming before, but that was decidedly what was happening. It made him look younger and handsomer, and made it clear how he’d got the laughter lines around his eyes.

“I believe you,” Avon said, answering a much earlier question. He made sure Blake was steady on his feet, and span away to the comm mounted on the wall. “Attention all crew – we are abandoning the Liberator. I repeat – _abandon_ ship. _Now._ ”

He looked back at Blake, warmth and affection in his face, as though they weren’t running away, losing everything, and then he hit the door button and strode out. 

Blake followed more slowly, steadying himself against the wall as he went. The medi-bay had clearly been more effectively shielded than the rest of the ship, because out here the deck seemed to be constantly swaying. The air was filled with smoke and various panels had been blasted off the walls to lie in heaps on the floor. Wall consoles were sparking as though wires had been severed behind them. 

Cally ran past him with a grateful smile. Vila followed not far behind, his hands over his head to shield himself from falling objects. 

“Hurry up, Blake,” Vila called over his shoulder. “The whole place is about to blow!” 

Blake waited for Jenna to appear and overtake him as Cally and Vila had done, but she didn’t. 

“Where’s Jenna? Vila? _Vila_?” he shouted after the others, but Vila was too far away to hear him. Blake turned and looked behind him just in case, but she wasn’t there. Avon must still be collecting Orac from his room or wherever it was the computer was stashed, but Jenna should be heading for the escape pods. 

Blake sped up as much as he could to reach the nearest wall-comm. It was smoking slightly and he waved that smoke away, though it seemed a futile gesture really. Rather than risk potential electrocution, he pulled his sleeve down over his hand before he depressed the comm. button. 

“Jenna, this is Blake – are you there?”

“Not now, Blake,” Jenna’s voice said through the grill. “I only make this _look_ easy. Just get out while you can.”

“ _Jenna,_ ” Blake protested, but any reply she might have made was cut off by static. Something else large that hopefully wasn’t load-bearing fell from the ceiling just inches from Blake’s shoulder. If he delayed any more the way might be entirely blocked off. 

Blake glanced back down the corridor the way Vila and Cally had gone, the way Avon would be going – and then turned and began walking as fast as he could back to the flight deck. It seemed to take twice as long as the journey had taken him in the past, but eventually he made it into the familiar open cavern. Like the corridors Blake had come from, it was filled with billowing smoke and sparks. All the seats were empty, except the pilot’s chair, which was still occupied by Jenna Stannis. 

“What are you _doing_?” Blake demanded as he approached. “We have to get out of here.”

“The automatics are dead,” Jenna said without looking at him. 

“Yes, and that’s _why_ we’re abandoning ship.”

Jenna shook her head. “We’re too close to three planetoids and who knows how many enemy spacecraft. If I let her drift, she’ll crash into something before the life capsules can be launched.” She gave the directional controls a harsh tug with both hands. “Someone’s got to stay and fly this thing.”

In the ten minutes or so since he’d last seen Avon, Blake had become used to the idea that they were all going to survive. It felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under him. Even if he went now, Jenna would die. He couldn’t drag her away to the life capsules unless he wanted to risk everyone else as well. The chance he’d given Avon would be for nothing. He stared at her in horror for a moment, and then, as more circuits exploded behind him, he climbed up behind the pilot’s chair. There was only one clear solution.

“It doesn’t have to be _you._ ” 

The sacrifice felt right. If any of them had to go down with the ship it should be him. It was his ridiculous quest, his dream, his ship, his crew who he would be dying to save in gratitude for their help saving the rest of the galaxy. He would miss out on everything that had been promised by Avon’s kiss, but Avon would live. That was the main thing. Avon would live and think better of his infatuation. And Jenna would live and think better of following idealistic heroes into battle. Blake felt briefly dizzy and clutched at the nearest console for support.

Jenna laughed as she glanced over at him. “Blake, you look like you’re about to collapse. Somehow I doubt your reactions will be good enough to keep us together at the moment.”

“Force wall is off line,” Zen intoned.

“Thank you, Zen,” Jenna said. She pulled them into another tight manoeuvre that forced Blake to grab hold of the chair, and gritted her teeth. “This just got interesting.”

“If by interesting you mean we’re _completely exposed,_ ” Blake said. He climbed up into Vila’s seat instead, and began engaging the defence program. He glanced up towards the gold and orange blotches of the main visual display. “Zen – have we got enough power left to operate the blasters?”

“Confirmed.” 

“And how long until we lose life support?”

“Eleven minutes, forty two seconds, and counting,” Zen said as Avon skidded into the room, followed by Cally. Blake tried not to look at him, though he noticed that Avon, who was carrying Orac, was breathing heavily, and something had struck him above the right eyebrow. A thin line of dark blood trickled down the side of his face. 

“Vila reports that the life support capsules are still operational,” Avon said, clearly trying to keep his voice steady. “But they may not be for long. If we are to go, we should do so now.”

“Agreed,” Blake said, without looking up at them. One of the alien ships was closing in on them, and readying its guns. “Life support will fail in about ten minutes. You’d both better get out of here, and fast.” He activated the blasters, hitting the ship in its most vulnerable spot. As he watched on the monitors, it exploded in a blaze of light.

“Nice shooting,” Jenna said.

“And what about you?” Cally asked, stepping closer.

“Jenna and I are going to stick around a bit longer,” Blake said, exchanging a grin with Jenna.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jenna said wryly.

“You said yourself, Blake,” Avon snapped, “life support is failing in _ten minutes._ ”

“That’s why you should go now,” Blake said. “We’ll see you back on Liberator when the self-repair units have fixed the teleport.” Perhaps they would even manage it. Once the others were out of Liberator’s orbit, he and Jenna would have no reason not to head for the life capsules themselves. Although the chance of survival would be minimal, it would be better than staying on the burning flight deck. 

“Now go,” Blake told the members of his crew who still had a good chance. “ _Go,_ ” he shouted, swinging round to glare at Avon, who was still standing there, risking his life, and making the gesture Blake was making meaningless. 

Avon’s face, which had lit up so briefly in the medical bay, was now dark and closed off. He looked as though Blake had betrayed him, rather than saved him. 

“I knew you hadn’t changed your mind,” Avon said, harshly like an insult, and turned on his heel.

*

_Two years later in another medical bay…_  
Blake returned to consciousness slowly, his eyelids flickering open and closed as he adjusted to the light. His chest felt as though someone had kicked him repeatedly and for some reason his head ached abominably too. But he knew he was lucky to be alive.

Still squinting, he peered around the room. It wasn't the medi-bay in the Gauda Prime base, but it was familiar. It must be the medi-bay on the transport ship that they'd had fuelled and ready to go in case of emergency. So, there had been an emergency then – beyond his own excessive blood-loss and internal organ damage. They wouldn't have evacuated just because Blake had been shot. 

There was a familiar man sitting in a chair by his bed, reading a tablet and frowning. He looked up, as though sensing Blake’s gaze on him, and raised his eyebrows. Blake sighed and rolled his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes again. 

“If you’re planning on saying _you told me so_ , you could at least wait until I’m out of bed.” 

“Could I really?” Deva said. “And what makes you think I’m ever going to take your advice again?”

“Habit?” Blake suggested.

“ _Hm_ ,” Deva said darkly. “If that’s true, it would be a bad habit and I’d do better to try and break it. However, since you’re undeniably still recovering …”

“Thank you,” Blake said gratefully, but without much hope of the thing going through. Sure enough, there was a moment of silence, and then Deva said, 

“I did _tell_ you the bounty hunter scheme would go wrong, though.”

“ _Yes_ , Deva, I know.”

“Obviously, even I had no idea quite how badly or how soon, but I think we can agree that someone you thought was safe turning out to be a Federation officer _at the same time_ as someone who really should have welcomed you with open arms shooting you was not a successful outcome.”

“I won’t do it again,” Blake said.

“I’d have to be an idiot to believe you,” Deva said. Blake opened his eyes again to look at Deva reproachfully, and Deva shook his head. “Oh, I know you won’t do _this_ particular thing again – but not listening to me? I’m afraid I only give you about five minutes on that one, Blake.” 

Shaking his head had made his hair flop over his face again, and he pushed it back, irritably, behind his ear. Blake let himself smile at the gesture and at the implication of loyalty. Even mid-rant, Deva had still made it clear that he intended to be around for some time. It was relieving, even after everything. And another thing – if Deva was bothering to castigate him about his failings, then presumably whatever had happened after Blake had collapsed hadn’t been as bad as Blake had feared it was. 

“How is everyone else?” he asked, turning his head to the side so he could look at Deva properly again. 

Deva shrugged. “As well as can be expected. Quite a few people, including me, I might add, got hit with stun blasts before our lot recaptured the base. Fortunately the Federation wanted to take you and Avon’s crew alive. You were the only one seriously hurt, except for Klyn. She was hit by the same weapon you were.”

 _Avon,_ Blake thought, his mind producing an image of the man and the gun, although one was in far better focus than the other. He wanted to ask whether Avon was all right, and whether he was here on the same transport ship or whether he'd found another way off GP, but that wasn't a good idea politically. No matter that Avon was Avon, and Blake and Klyn had only exchanged pleasantries once or twice a day, he had to put concern for the victim before concern for the aggressor. 

“Is she all right?” he asked. There were other beds in the medical bay, but none of them were occupied except the one that Blake was on. That seemed to bode well – surely Deva would have said if she’d died. 

“Recovering.”

“And … Avon?” Blake asked with as much casualness as he could manage. 

“Making himself useful,” Deva said with a much better impression of not being that interested. "This team has needed a second technician for months, as I’m sure I’ve told you before––” Blake nodded, and waved for him to continue. "I've been able to give him quite a few of the tasks from my backlog. And of course he and Dayna Mellanby have fitted their Stardrive into this old bucket of rust, which took a few days. They're still working on the teleport, but I told them speed was our priority."

"How long until we reach Exbar?" Blake asked, mostly to try and get an idea of how long he'd been out, leaving Avon to wander his base and his ship. 

"Hm?" Deva said. "Oh, we're not going to Exbar any more. I'm sorry – I forgot you didn't know that." 

Blake fought the urge to shout and lever himself out of bed. He reminded himself that he was still weak. He also reminded himself that whatever Deva and the others had decided to do while he was unconscious was almost certainly for the best and probably what Blake either would have done, or (as Deva would be sure to point out) what he _should_ have done. 

“And why not?” he said as calmly as he could.

“Avon's idea,” Deva said. “ _Apparently_ he’s only just set up an alliance of warlords with the aim of manufacturing an antidote to Pylene-50 – you remember, that pacification drug we had word of?” 

Blake nodded impatiently. He remembered reading about it in the reports Deva insisted on printing out for him. Horrific, but nothing they could do about it – that’s what he remembered thinking at the time. It had been one of the things he’d made himself not think about so he could get on with what he was trying to accomplish without going mad, but apparently Avon had not only identified a solution but was also keenly pursuing it, despite what must be extreme danger to himself and his crew. It seemed impossible, or at the very least _implausible_. Naturally, Blake had heard stories of some of the things Avon had supposedly been responsible for over the past two years, but he hadn’t allowed himself to believe them. Avon fighting the Federation was what he wanted to be the case, rather than what he thought was likely. 

It was difficult not to believe everything now, though. In two years Avon had become a force to be reckoned with. Avon, who had always fought so hard not to do anything for anybody else, was now liberating the galaxy more effectively than Blake had ever done. It made Blake feel ineffably miserable, even as he was truly pleased Avon had embraced his potential at last. But it had only been possible once Avon had been allowed out of Blake’s shadow.

“He’s persuaded five planetary systems to join him already,” Deva continued and Blake’s eyebrows lifted and then contracted into a frown. _So many_. “Unfortunately the recent death of Zukan of Betafarl has opened a gap at the top of the hierarchy. Avon is worried interest might drift without a strong hand the helm. In your absence, Inga and Grant thought it was worth pursuing – and, of course, so did I." 

"You're sure these _warlords_ can be trusted?" Blake said skeptically. 

"No," Deva said. "But if we _don’t_ trust them then our only option seems to be finding another backwater planet to hide out in and rot on. Nobody felt _that_ was very appealing.” He found and held Blake's eyes – his gaze and his tone implying a clear criticism of Blake’s plan to move the rebellion to Exbar, another penal planet where they could continue the work they were doing on GP, recruiting good people: soldiers, strategists, scientists; building an army and the weapons they would need to win a war; making people feel safe and that they had a chance to win. Not very exciting, no, but worth doing. 

“So,” Blake said, trying to keep his voice light and amused. These people were all his friends. He trusted their judgement, and it was a good plan. He shouldn't get angry, just because it wasn’t _his_ plan. “This is a coup.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Deva said impatiently. “Who do you think is supposed to take Zukan’s place? Lead and unite the warring factions?”

“Me, is it?” Blake guessed. 

“Nobody better. Why do you think Avon came to find you when he did?” Deva asked. 

It was kindly meant, Blake supposed. Deva was just reassuring him that he was still required, his decisions were still valid and his leadership still needed. But it felt like Deva had kicked him in the gut, in the wounds Avon had already given him. 

Avon had come to Gauda Prime because he needed a figurehead for his rebellion. Stupid to think he might have returned out of sentiment. Stupid to think he might still feel _besotted, ardently and completely in love._ No, it had been two years and Avon had moved on. And it wasn’t as though either he or Avon really had time for a relationship with the war still going on, so it hardly mattered. 

“Blake?” Deva said as Blake’s eyes closed wearily and he let himself sink back into the pillows again. “Are you all right?”

“Just tired,” Blake told him, mostly truthfully. “Don’t worry, Deva. I’m just tired.”

*

He forced himself to get up and walk out into the ship that evening. It was almost certainly a bad idea – his wounds had only just started to knit back together, but Blake could feel despondency settling over him. Better to be up and about than lying in bed feeling sorry for himself. Besides, who knew what other decisions the others would make without him if he wasn’t there to stop them? He had to get up.

Inga found him, resting heavily in a doorway about ten minutes later. “I’m _all right_ ,” he told her irritably as she approached. 

“I’m sure you are,” she said with fond amusement. She took his arm and pulled it over her shoulder, looping her arm around his waist to help support him. “All right. Where do you want to go?”

“Exbar,” Blake said, making sure to smile as she looked up at him. “The rec room,” he said, making the earlier answer look like a joke. “For now.”

“That’s this way,” Inga said, steering him back the way he’d come. She was about half his size, but Blake felt as weak as a kitten and Inga was significantly stronger than she looked, so he trusted his weight to her. 

“This had better not be a trick,” Blake told her as they retraced his earlier steps. “Back to bed, Roj, and let the able-bodied adults get on with the planning.”

Inga laughed and shook her head under his arm. “You’d only crawl out. Did Deva tell you about Exbar?”

“He mentioned it, yes.”

“Now is the right time to strike,” Inga said warmly, with much of the same passion and fire that Blake recognised from his own voice. “If we’d lost GP three months ago, Exbar would be the only choice, but now we’re ready. This alliance is what we’ve been waiting for. A chance to fight back at last. Father agrees. He’s going to meet us on Lovis.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ll have him with us,” Blake said as they entered the rec room together. 

The chatter didn’t entirely die away as he entered, but there was a slight hiccup as the people inside noticed his presence. Those nearest to him (including Vila, Blake’s weapons expert Geog, and his quartermaster Phillena) all shot out of their seats and tried to get him to sit down. That meant he must look as bad as he felt.

Blake chose an armchair to sink into and thanked Vila who had offered to get him a drink too. He tried not to notice that Avon, sitting over in a corner with Dayna Mellanby, working on some piece of equipment or other, hadn’t looked up at all. There were perhaps ten or fifteen other people in the room, too. The other two members of Avon’s band (Tarrant and Soolin) were somewhere else – perhaps on the flight deck, along with Blake’s pilots – while the rest of Blake’s people were probably in their cabins or (in Deva’s case) frantically studying the computer readouts. 

Del Grant detached himself from the group he was talking to and came to crouch next to Blake’s chair. Quickly, he outlined the plan of attack, which it seemed was to go first to Lovis, one of the worlds that Avon had negotiated with, and deliver the first batch of the raw material needed to create an antidote to Pylene-50. From there they would contact the rest of the warlords, and use their resources to infiltrate Betafarl and collect more of the raw material – Avon had brought almost a hundred kilos with him from his former base, but they would need more. Inga sat on the arm of Blake’s chair and interjected when necessary, and eventually Grant called Avon over to elaborate on some of the finer details. 

Avon rose smoothly from his seat next to Dayna and came over. He’d changed out of the leather clothes he’d been wearing on GP, and into a dark jumpsuit Phillena must have found for him. It didn’t exactly suit him, but it made him look competent and practical, as though he was in the middle of working on something – which he actually had been, if the mound of components still in front of Dayna was anything to go by.

Avon answered all the questions put to him, neatly and succinctly, including one from Blake. He didn’t _not_ look at Blake, but neither did he look at him. Their eyes didn’t quite meet, and Avon kept glancing away towards Grant as though _he_ were safe ground. 

“Incidentally Blake,” Avon said, after he’d finished explaining exactly how he thought the antidote could be distributed in the water systems of Lovis, “I apologise for shooting you. I was under a misapprehension.” He’d turned his head so that he was almost, but not quite, looking in Blake’s direction. “I believed, incorrectly, that you had betrayed the rebellion.”

Grant snorted. “ _As_ if.” Inga squeezed Blake’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t give you any reason _not_ to think that,” Blake said bracingly. He wanted to reach out and touch Avon reassuringly, as Inga was comforting him, but thought better of it. Avon gave a curt nod, and strode out of the room without saying goodnight to anyone else present. Neither Grant nor Inga seemed to think this was odd or undesirable. 

Eventually Blake excused himself too, levering himself up out of the chair with difficulty before he went to sleep in it. He waved away offers of help and made his own way over to the door, supporting himself with a hand against the wall. Gradually his heartbeat slowed. He’d survived meeting Avon again. It had been awkward, presumably for both of them, but now it was over. Blake hadn’t embarrassed himself by saying too much or not saying anything at all. Eventually they might even be able to talk to each other properly. 

Inga caught him as he stopped for breath outside the doors to the computer rooms. 

“Come on, old man,” she said, her arm wrapped around his waist. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

*

The teleport wasn’t quite ready by the time they reached Lovis, though Deva was getting distinctly excited by the possibility and kept telling Blake about how close they were to getting it to work. How close _he and Avon_ were to getting it to work. If Blake had been asked earlier whether Deva and Avon would get on, he’d have said that Deva could get on with almost anyone, but that Avon wasn’t just anyone. He might even have privately thought that perhaps Deva would be jealous of Avon and vice versa, as both of them had serious claims to being Blake’s most trusted advisor and closest friend. But, as it turned out, if anyone was jealous it was Blake himself. He kept walking into rooms to see Avon and Deva talking about things he didn’t quite understand and nodding at each other. Somehow the fact that they shared the same job, and had the same points of reference, allowed them to communicate with each other – and more effectively than either of them had ever been able to communicate with him.

No matter how well the work was going, though, the fact was that the teleport wasn't ready for their trip to Lovis. That meant that Blake and Avon, and a small entourage (Deva and Inga to support Blake; Soolin to support Avon and provide additional firepower; Benj to take a look at the Lovian processing units and decide whether they were viable) took a manned shuttle down to the planet. 

Blake had pilots of his own, but he was keen to let the recently recovered Tarrant contribute meaningfully after the disaster at GP. Everyone Blake had recruited over the past two years had been assigned to some task that needed their particular skills within a week of being sworn in. He needed every single person to know they were a vital part of the operation, and Avon’s crew were no exception. In Tarrant's case this was particularly important because, although it had been in no way his fault, it was likely Tarrant blamed himself for the destruction of the Scorpio and Avon's "misapprehension" regarding Blake's loyalties. Fortunately Avon obviously felt no particular guilt about it, which Blake supposed was fair under the circumstances, and he had, anyway, been proving himself so indispensable since his arrival that Blake wondered how they'd ever really got on without him. 

As it turned out, his worries about Tarrant were equally unfounded. Avon's crew seemed to be exceptionally self-confident. Tarrant welcomed Blake into the shuttle like an old friend. 

"Feeling better?" he asked as Blake took the co-pilot’s seat next to him. 

"Moderately," Blake said. “And you?"

"I'm alive and I can move all my limbs," Tarrant said with a wry grin as he initiated the take-off procedure. "That's more than you can say for most men who've crashed into a planet and been in a Federation shoot-out in the same day." 

Inga squeezed Blake’s shoulder as she passed and Blake turned his head after her as she joined the others in the passenger section. He saw that Avon and Deva had already settled into their seats and were apparently already in mid-conversation flow. Inga took the seat next to Soolin, who had been checking the charge on her gun, and smiled at her as she sat. Soolin said something to Inga that Blake didn’t catch, and then looked up at Blake and nodded, as though to indicate all was well. Blake nodded back, and twisted around in his seat again. She was right: he should relax.

”Incidentally,” he said to Tarrant, “you passed the test. Though it may not have felt like it."

"Not a very difficult test, though, was it?" Tarrant said. "All I had to do was choose _not_ being arrested––"

Blake shook his head. ”You could have sold your friends out in a futile attempt to save yourself. You could have revealed yourself as a Federation spy––"

"Perhaps I'm just playing a long game," Tarrant suggested.

 _Like Arlen undoubtedly was,_ Blake thought grimly. He didn't let his smile fall, but he did pretend to discover a sudden keen interest in the navigation controls in front of him, so that Tarrant wouldn't see how fixed that smile had become. 

He’d liked Arlen. In fact, in many ways she'd reminded him of Avon – vulnerable and in need of help, but fiercely independent and unwilling to take that help when it was offered. Practical enough not to refuse it completely, mind, but proud enough to pretend it didn't matter and that she was doing him a favour by accepting his hospitality. Clever too, determined and resourceful – the kind of person he would have liked to have had on his side. Undoubtedly a pyschostrategist somewhere had selected her to infiltrate the GP base for just that reason. Blake hated to be disappointed in people, and he hated to be used. Worst of all, he hated being used through his emotional ties. _Particularly,_ he thought, _since Avon now views me as little more than a figurehead for his revolution, so it’s an emotional tie I should probably try and loosen._

Apparently sensing the turn in his mood, Tarrant said, "I'm _not,_ if that's what you're wondering."

"No, I don't think you are," Blake told him with a more genuine smile. 

"And if I was I wouldn't tell you," Tarrant added. He grinned back at Blake as he fired up the retro-blasters. "Actually, the most difficult part was identifying you – I assume that was part of the test too. How I would react on realising I was in the presence of the _infamous_ Blake.”

Blake snorted at the word infamous, though he was well aware it was true, and that he'd made use of the legend in exactly the way Tarrant had suggested. "I wondered if I made it too obvious actually."

"You'd be surprised," Tarrant said. "Even Avon said you'd changed so much he hardly recognised you." 

Blake kept his pleasant smile fixed. Two years. He'd gained more weight than he would have liked, and he hadn't bothered to fix the scar over his eye because it suited his disguise and he had better things to worry about; otherwise he looked the same. The only way Avon could have been confused was if he'd completely forgotten what Blake looked like. 

Without meaning to, Blake glanced back again at Avon, who'd changed his hair and the way he dressed, but was otherwise Avon, exactly as he had been back on the Liberator – every atom of him memorialised in Blake's consciousness, and revisited daily. The way he smiled, the way he scowled, the way he spoke.

Blake turned back to Tarrant before Avon could look up and catch him staring. 

"Did he indeed?" Blake said, and was pleased to hear how dry his voice sounded.

*

The loss of Zukan had hit the warlord alliance even harder than Avon had anticipated – or perhaps, had been willing to admit to. Lovis had been selected as the first planet Blake would engage with because Avon had reported that its leader, Mida, had been more reasonable than all the other warlords put together. If that was the case, Blake thought, then it was astonishing that Avon had ever managed to get anything out of the others at all.

"I have experience of persuading the pig-headed," Avon had said blithely when asked. Blake had turned his head, expecting to be personally baited, and Avon had demurred: "Tarrant, for example, has never been able to satisfactorily prove that his ancestors were _not_ born on a farmyard."

Perhaps, Blake thought to himself, in reality the job of winning Mida over to the cause wasn't so difficult at all – it was just that he himself was in a foul mood and wasn't performing at his best. That was certainly possible, but it was also deeply depressing. To make matters worse, he could feel Avon and the others watching him silently from behind his seat as he failed to be convincing. They'd agreed on the way in that only Blake would speak. The warlords, Avon had told them, responded to strength – that was why Blake had a substantial escort, after all. However, if Blake was supported by a disagreeable rabble, or appeared not to be able to maintain his own arguments without help, then he might as well not bother to make those arguments. That meant he was effectively on his own. 

"You agreed before that Pylene-50 posed enough of a risk to be worth challenging," Blake pointed out after thirty minutes of evasions and denials. "The situation hasn't improved. If anything, the death of the most powerful warlord in this sector actually makes it _more_ likely that the Federation will be coming for the rest of you."

"But not with guns," Mida said. Like Blake, he too was supported by various advisors, who had thus far done nothing other than stare at Blake as though as he was completely insane. 

"No, with something worse," Blake retorted. He could hear his voice rising as he got more and more furious. "They'll come with drugs that will mean they don't need to fire a single gun."

"Unless we make contact with them now," Mida said. "Negotiate an alliance. You are arguing, Blake, as your friend Avon argued before, that the only options are submission by drugs or by force. But there is also voluntary submission."

"They control Earth," Blake said, voice hard with exasperation. "The water is _thick_ with suppressants. They control Mars and Zephron and Helotrix and Solar City. If you give them a way onto this planet, they will _use_ that as a way of introducing their control measures. The drugs are not only a means to conquest – they are a means of maintaining control once it is established."

"At the moment supplies must be limited," Mida said. "If we offer no resistance, why should they waste pacification drugs on us when Hirreal still repels them?"

It was in Blake's mind to repeat everything he'd just told them, to point out what had happened to the collaborator Zukan, or to explain how useful a completely docile base of power in the Border Systems would be to the Federation. Mida would probably argue that Tarl was closer to Earth and would be intercepted before Lovis, or that Khom was more strategically situated and a better prospect for colonisation. That might be true, but to Blake it was obvious that if one planet in the Systems fell then the rest would go in five to ten years. It felt pointless arguing it, though, unless he could find a different way in. At the moment all he was doing was saying the same things Avon had said before, things had been _accepted_ before but only when the stakes had been lower and their assets greater. 

Blake rubbed a hand over his face. "Tell me, Mida, why did you agree to see me if you had no intention of agreeing to our proposals?" 

Perhaps, he thought suddenly, Lovis had already given in to the Federation. That would explain why they were so vehemently defending surrender as an option. Perhaps Mida was only detaining them here long enough for Servalan to arrive. It had obviously happened before with Zukan and Betafarl, but Orac would surely have combed Lovian subspace communication for any sign of such an alliance before Inga and Grant had agreed to this mission. 

Mida smiled tiredly. "Hope," he said. "And – curiosity. Your name is well known, even out here, Blake."

"And Kerr Avon intimated you had a war fleet capable of resisting the Federation with force," one of Mida's advisors added, clearly having judged that it was time to intervene at last. "Yet on this point you have been strangely silent." 

Blake, who did not have a war fleet of any kind, turned in his seat to look at Avon. Avon raised an eyebrow, as though to say, _Well, it got us in here, didn't it?_ That was true. And it was an opportunity Blake was wasting. He turned back, realising as he did so that he'd just made eye contact with Avon for the first time since the tracking gallery. Well, that hadn't been so bad. In fact, he'd hardly noticed it. 

"I don't have a war fleet," he told Mida. "Betafarl _does._ “

"I don't see why––" the advisor began.

“ _Betafarl_ is my sworn ally," Blake said firmly. After all, he thought, why not try exactly what had worked before? "If we need it, that war fleet is at our disposal, but I thought you wanted to avoid bloodshed, not invite it through a show of strength."

"We have heard nothing of this alliance," Mida said. "And even if it what you say is true––"

"It is."

“––Avon promised an alliance with Zukan once before. Zukan toasted and affirmed, and yet he sided with the Federation when the time came."

“ _That,_ " Blake said, warming to his theme now, ”was an alliance with _Zukan._ And it was Zukan who broke his oath, not his people. Now Zukan is dead, we have a chance to start again. That chance is better _because_ Zukan was killed by the Federation who should have been his allies. We broadcast the tapes of his final hours across Betafarl. Those tapes made it clear not only who was responsible for Zukan’s death, but also that Zukan himself had murdered several of his own citizens in an attempt to kill Avon. The debt of honour the new council felt to us was so great that they were only too pleased to accept my offer of alliance.” 

Mida’s face had become thoughtful throughout this discussion, and his advisors had fallen silent. Sensing that now was the right time to push his luck, Blake held out a hand. 

“I _hope_ you will too.”

*

“Blake,” Deva hissed as they left the audience chamber, “are you insane? I can’t be the only one to notice that you haven’t got an alliance with Betafarl.”

Blake slung an arm around his shoulder and drew him in companionably. "So we’ll get one.”

“Easier said than done, of course,” Avon said from Blake’s other side. “But your idea about broadcasting Zukan’s final hour isn’t bad. And I have other contacts from our initial trip to Betafarl who presumably still occupy positions of power––”

“Good. Contact them first,” Blake said, letting go of Deva. “The political situation could be more inflammatory than I realise.”

“Obviously,” Avon said. “Do you have any more bright ideas, or just more that I’ve already thought of?”

Blake grinned at him. “Both, I expect,” he said.

*

“ _Men!_ " Dayna huffed as she entered the rec room.

She had obviously hoped for a loud and sympathetic reaction. Unfortunately the rec room was mostly empty, and everyone who was there was male. Aside from Blake, who had been dozing quietly, two of Blake's GP recruits were playing cards in a corner, while Avon was sitting at his traditional table in the corner, bits of teleport spread out in front of him. Blake had considered going over to sit with him at several points already during the evening, but Avon had come in while he wasn't looking and had chosen to sit alone. If he needed Blake's help or wanted his company, he could ask for it or demand it. Until he did, Blake actually found it quite relaxing to sit in the same room as Avon without arguing. They'd worked well together on the Betafarl gambit. For a brief time, it had felt much like the old days. Blake had begun several sentences and then dropped them on purpose for Avon to pick up. He thought at one point Avon had even begun to smile before he'd quashed the instinct ruthlessly. It felt as though, perhaps, Blake had been wrong and Avon hadn’t lost interest in him. It seemed foolish to hope – but then again, foolishly hoping was exactly the sort of thing that Avon had always accused Blake of doing in desperate situations that, together, they had turned to their advantage. As a consequence, Blake thought with amusement, it was almost as though he had licence to feel the way he did.

With his eyes closed, Blake could still hear the clink of metal parts and the low hum of the laser probe beneath the soft voices of the card players. It made him feel peculiarly like everything was all right – and he could relax because, as soon as it wasn't, he would know about it. 

He cracked an eye open at Dayna, giving her an amused half-smile. "What have we done this time?" 

"I thought Soolin or Inga would be in here," Dayna said, sinking into the armchair opposite Blake. "But you'll do as a confidant as long, as long as you're willing to accept that you're wrong about everything."

"I have some experience of that," Blake agreed.

“Nice try, but I don’t believe it,” Dayna said, “When did you last do anything that didn’t work? Apart from Central Control, and everyone has to fail occasionally.”

Blake began to protest – they were on a terrible ship flying away from the base he'd spent two years building after he’d been shot by the man he was in love with, but Danya’s laugh over-rode him before he could get too far into it. 

“How are things going on Betafarl, Blake?” she asked. “Did they throw us off the planet?”

Reluctantly Blake shook his head with a smile. “Landslide majority. In our favour. The first shipments of raw materials should be arriving on Lovis, Tarl and Hirreal in the next twenty four hours. Soolin and Inga are overseeing the delivery.”

“They won’t be back for ages then,” Dayna said.

“So you don’t have much choice. What’s wrong?”

Dayna groaned. “Oh, it's just _Tarrant._ Yesterday I listened to him telling me about how miserable he was about Zeeona's death for two hours. All this talk of Betafarl had really brought it back to him blah blah." Blake nodded sympathetically, having heard most of the details from Avon during the Betafarl briefing. "Then _today,_ “ Dayna said, "I caught him in the supply cupboard with Klyn!"

Blake's eyebrows rose. "What, my Klyn?"

"I don't know why I'm even surprised. She's just his type."

“Efficient?” Blake guessed. 

"Damsel in distress," Dayna said with a roll of her eyes. “I'm trying to work out whether I should warn her that once she's recovered from being choked and shot he'll probably lose interest."

"Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

"For _her_ , yes," Dayna said. "For him, it's not harsh enough. Which," she said, settling herself more comfortably in the chair, "brings me back to my opening remark – _men!_ I don't know why anyone bothers with them really, since they can't stay faithful to one person for more than five minutes."

"Now Dayna, there I _have_ to disagree with you," Blake said, laughing to show it was a silly conversation that neither of them were taking seriously, but horribly aware that Avon was in the room and could easily be listening. "Look at––" 

He cast around for examples of successful relationships that Dayna might have witnessed, but it was depressingly difficult. Most of the people Blake knew were too busy staying alive to form romantic relationships. The only example that sprang readily to mind was Avon's longterm devotion to Anna Grant. However, Vila had already told Blake, in detail, exactly how Avon had tracked down her killer, only to find that Anna was alive and had betrayed him. Hardly a sterling example to hold up, even if Blake had been willing to actively discuss Avon's romantic investment in someone else while Avon was in the room, which he certainly wasn’t.

Of course, Blake thought, with wry amusement, he could also name himself. He must have been in love with Avon long enough to satisfy even Dayna's demands of faithfulness. XK72 was more than three years ago now, and Blake knew he’d loved Avon long before that, even if he couldn’t say exactly when the infatuation had started. Impossible to say: at this point, I only found him clever and handsome, but a pain in the neck. At this point, I realised that I trusted him. At this point, I realised I couldn't do without him. At this point, I realised I must be in love with him and I am still in love with him today, whatever he thinks of me. And he must know, Blake thought. He must surely know. How much more blatant can you get than _I was waiting for_ you?

"Well, look at Beni and Tarly," he decided eventually, naming his chief engineer and one of his pilots. "They've been together four or five years now. Or what about your own father, Dayna?” 

Possibly a bad move, if Dayna still felt his death as a raw wound, but Blake had few other ideas. Hal Mellanby's love for his wife and daughter had been remembered in the Freedom Party long after Mellanby had fled Earth and the Federation. It _was_ a good example.

"My father was trapped under ground with two daughters and no other company," Dayna said. To Blake’s relief, she was laughing, but it was clear he was losing the argument, and Blake hated losing arguments. "If that's the best you can do then I think I win by default."

"Or if you want an example closer to home," Blake said, trying to keep his voice light as he pushed through the sentence, “ _I've_ been in love with the same person for years. And without any encouragement, too.”

There was a metal clatter from over where Avon was – as though he'd dropped the laser probe he was working with. Perhaps an unrelated accident, or perhaps Blake had just imagined the sound or what it meant. His pulse increased erratically anyway, though; adrenalin rushing through his system. 

Dayna didn't turn, and presumably hadn't even noticed. "Yes, but _you’re_ not like other men."

"Who _is_?” Blake said incredulously.

"Evening all," Vila's voice said from behind Blake's chair. He sounded bright and relaxed, quite different from the grim, grey Vila Blake had seen in the tracking gallery.

“ _Vila_ ," Dayna said with a grin. 

"You called?" Vila said affably, approaching Dayna's chair. "What do you need? A glass of wine, a snack, a pack of cards? Name it, and I'm your man. Literally if you want. Unless, of course," he said, voice faltering, “you want me to do something dangerous. I don’t want to let anyone down, you see. I still feel terrible after that stun blast. I always said I had a weak chest––“ 

"Vila is _exactly_ like other men," Dayna said in a confiding voice. Blake tried to smile, as though he was still listening properly to the conversation and finding it amusing, but his attention was entirely focused on the man he wasn’t looking at across the other side of the room. 

“ _Hey_ ," Vila said, but without any real malice.

"How many times have you propositioned me this week?" Dayna asked him. 

"Hard to say," Vila said, taking a seat opposite her as Blake began chewing absently on his fingernail. He risked a look over at Avon, who was staring fixedly at a circuit diagram. “Five or six? But then I knew you'd say no. If I thought you'd say yes, I'd have been more persistent.”

“See – faithfulness in the face of indifference,” Blake interpreted for him. “What more could you ask?” He wanted this conversation to be over.

Dayna shook her head with a laugh. “What about Soolin?” she asked Vila.

“Once,” Vila said. “And I was quick to duck afterwards. Why?”

“Inga?”

“Well … once or twice. Possibly a few more. She’s a nice-looking lady,” Vila said, his eyes sliding guiltily to Blake and back again. Blake, who had been listening for further sounds of movement from Avon rather than to what Vila was saying, momentarily had no idea what the right reaction was or why Vila expected any reaction at all from him. Too late he realised it was because Inga was his cousin and he should be protective of her, but by then Dayna had said triumphantly,

“ _Exactly!_ You can’t even commit to one of us for longer than it takes for you to see the next one.”

“Say the word, Dayna my lovely, and I’ll never look at another woman again.”

“No thanks,” Dayna said, laughing. “Though I don’t believe you _could_ if I did.”

“See what I have to put up with?” Vila said appealingly to Blake, who had decided Avon must have stopped listening, if he ever had been. “It’s not even true. I almost committed once,” Vila continued in a reminiscing voice. “Kerril. Worked with Bayban, – till she met me, that is. Beautiful girl: blonde, amazing legs. Hell of a temper, but she was sweet too. And she was sweet on me, very sweet.” He seemed unsure whether he was sad to have lost her or happy to have had someone for however long it had been. 

“What went wrong?” Blake asked, more to give Vila the opportunity to talk about her if he wanted to, than because he wanted to know whatever tragic ending the story had.

“Went to another world,” Vila said. “Thousands of lightyears away. No idea where it was. I could have gone with her, but––” He shrugged. “Well, there was nothing to steal.”

“Yes, this isn’t _really_ helping your case,” Blake said. 

“Oh come on, Blake,” Vila said. “I put the job first. You know you’d have done the same.” 

Blake began to protest that of _course_ he wouldn’t, because Avon was _right there_ and listening to everything, but before he could say anything Vila said, 

“I don’t believe you. And why should you have to choose? That’s what I want to know. And just because your job’s saving the galaxy and mine is––”

“Stealing things,” Dayna said with a roll of her eyes.

“Exactly,” Vila said, “the fact is that I’m good at it and I need to do it. I am what I do, same as you, Blake. If Kerril had wanted to come on the Liberator I would have stayed with her. She didn’t, so I didn’t.” 

“I suppose,” Blake said, feeling as though it was too late and that he’d lost but might as well keep trying because it was that or throwing himself out of an airlock, “what you’re saying is that I’m very lucky that nobody I’ve ever loved has left me because of what I do, or forced me to choose between them and the things I think are important.” 

He closed his eyes briefly to help steady himself and to stop himself looking over at Avon. When he opened them again he was able to smile reassuringly at Vila. 

“I _did_ realise that before, but it’s good to be reminded of it, thank you Vila.” 

“No problem. But––”

“It’s also not _entirely_ true to say I would never put somebody I loved before my work,” Blake continued, without letting Vila get started. “Over the past few years, I’ve been asked repeatedly to change my mind or back down by the person I cared about most, and on one occasion I _did_ ––”

Vila screwed up his face in bemusement. “When did Inga ever ask you to back down?”

“What?” Blake said, even more bemused than Vila.

“Well, I mean,” Vila said, looking to Dayna for help, “she’s more gung-ho than you are. Perfect match, I’d have thought.”

“ _Vila,_ ” Blake said, slowly and clearly, “Inga _is my cousin._ We were raised together. I think of her as my sister. She is _not_ who I am talking about.”

Vila grimaced, and then his face brightened. “You mean she’s available?” 

“ _Vila!_ ” Dayna protested as Avon swept past them all and out of the room, taking all his teleport parts with him and almost colliding with Deva as he left. It seemed as though some of the light left with him, and Blake felt the familiar wash of depression that his recent victory on Betafarl hadn’t entirely dispelled. 

So – that was that then. He’d lost. 

“Everything all right?” Deva asked from behind Blake’s chair. 

“Yes,” Dayna said brightly, which Blake privately felt was an overstatement. “Ready for dinner?”

“Mm,” Deva said. He patted Blake on the shoulder as Dayna unfolded herself from the chair and stretched. “Good job on Betafarl, by the way. But next time, if you _could_ give me more warning of what you’re planning that would be appreciated.”

Blake began to nod at the familiar pattern of the conversation, but then his brain caught up and he twisted in his seat to look at Dayna and Deva leaving _together_ for dinner. 

“Is this what I think it is?”

Dayna grinned. “I have a type too.”

“What’s going on?” Deva said suspiciously, “Blake?” but Dayna laughed and pulled him out into the corridor before Blake could tell him that he didn’t have the foggiest.

“Blake,” Grant’s voice said through the comm system, “there’s a private message for you on subspace channel one.”

“Thanks. I’ll take it in my cabin,” Blake said, leaning on the transmit button. 

“Blake, you wouldn’t mind if I dated your cousin, would you?” Vila asked as Blake turned back to him.

“I think she’s more interested in Soolin,” Blake said, his mind already on the message. Probably something from Betafarl, or Mida confirming the shipment of materials to Lovis. He had to clear his mind of Avon (who might well be spending less time with Deva now if Deva was spending more time with Dayna – not that it mattered anymore). He had to concentrate in case there had been a disaster, or in case he had to send a message back that required him to look enthusiastic about their alliance rather than tired and depressed.

“Soolin?” Vila said, eyebrows raised. He thought about this for a moment, and then shrugged. “Well, I can’t blame her.”

*

Blake was recovered enough now that he could walk unaided back to his cabin, though it still took him longer than he would have liked. The door responded to his palmprint and slid open. Blake opened his belt, and dropped it onto the floor, followed by his waistcoat. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the old scar-tissue hard around his eye. Perhaps he should get it fixed – and perhaps, he thought wryly, he still had more important things to worry about.

"All right, computer – what's the message?" Unlike the Liberator and Avon's ship Scorpio, the transport ship was powered by a machine that was definitely _not_ sentient. It had no name, which made Blake peculiarly sad sometimes over the loss of the seventh member of his former crew.

"Message is from Kerr Avon," the computer intoned. 

Blake blinked. “It’s what?" 

He'd just come from a room with Avon in it. If Avon had wanted to speak to him, then he could have simply raised his voice. Unless he'd felt too awkward about what they'd been discussing to come over, or if he wanted to say something he didn't want the others to hear – perhaps that he was leaving, which they would presumably try to talk him out of. Or perhaps–– Was it stupid to hope that Avon had _not_ listened to a conversation about how Blake was still in love with him with indifference or boredom or dislike? 

"Message is from Kerr Avon,” the computer said again, either answering his earlier question or reminding him that he was currently in a state of limbo. He knew Avon had tried to contact him, but not why. Good or bad he would have to face it eventually. 

"Put it on screen," Blake decided, and paced away towards his bed, gnawing on his fingernail.

"Blake," Avon's voice said, as though he'd known he would have to attract Blake's attention. 

As he would have done if Avon had actually been in the room, Blake glanced over his shoulder, tugged by Avon’s voice. He saw that the monitor was now showing an image of Avon's head and shoulders. Behind Avon was what must be his cabin, which meant he was probably still on the ship. He was wearing the same clothes that he'd been wearing earlier, which suggested the message had been recorded today, probably immediately after he'd left the rec room. He looked pale, although it was possible that was just an effect of the the lighting, which was typically poor aboard the transport ship. His expression was blank, but there was a slight, troubled indentation between his eyebrows.

"I thought this would be easier if I didn't have to look at you," Avon said at last in a rush, as though to get it over with. Blake noticed he was looking off to one side as though even making eye contact with the camera was undesirable. “It … isn't really, but at least I can finish before you start to interrupt. That’s something. Not much, but something.”

He paused again, presumably to gather his thoughts, and Blake allowed himself to turn back fully towards the monitor. 

“I’ve just been listening––” Avon said as Blake walked closer and closer until he could have reached out and touched Avon had he really been there “––to a very interesting conversation.” He reconsidered. “No, most of it was tedious, but there were a few moments that – weren’t.” 

His eyes flicked suddenly towards the camera, and seemed to hold Blake’s through the monitor screen. As Blake watched, Avon’s calm seemed to shatter, leaving his features spiky and sharp.

"How _can_ you say that I'm indifferent to you?” Avon asked, sounding half angry and half desperate. “A complete _lack_ of encouragement? Blake – _everything_ I've done over the past four years has been for you. I've spent the last year gathering technology you could use, people who would be useful to you. I arranged the warlord alliance _for you_ , and I have had Orac searching for news of _your_ location _constantly_ since the day you abandoned the Liberator. How can you not understand? I shot you because I thought you’d betrayed _me_. I’d have thought that at least would be difficult to ignore. That was not the act of a sane man, Blake. That was the act of a man to whom you are, unfortunately, _everything._ ” 

His voice cracked, and he paused again.

“Avon,” Blake said into the comm channel, taking advantage of the moment of silence while Avon gathered himself again, “would you come to my cabin for a moment please?” He was pleased to hear his voice sounding terse, almost irritable, rather than shaken. Nobody else aboard the ship would know how he was really feeling. 

“All right. On my way,” Avon’s voice said.

On the monitor, Avon finished rubbing his eyes and gave the camera a wry smile. “Of course, I have assumed that you _were_ talking about me earlier. I hope … you were talking about me, because as you must finally understand, Blake, my feelings for you are unchanged. If anything, I’m more in love with you today than I was when you left me two years ago. Until that conversation I thought I would have to leave or go mad because of how little you seemed to want or need me. Now – well, I could still leave. Or I could stay – if you ask me to. The choice is yours, Blake.” He smiled mockingly around his teeth. “As always.”

The recording stopped, and Avon’s image vanished. 

Hands clenched against the wall, Blake took several long breaths to steady himself. Avon would be here in moments. It had seemed so necessary to call Avon as soon as possible, before Avon had even finished speaking, but now Blake realised he should have given himself longer to recover and to prepare what he was going to say when Avon arrived. Even if Avon had, for some reason, left his own cabin and walked to the furthest point in the ship before Blake had called him back, it would still only take him a few _minutes_ to––

The door chimed to indicate that someone was outside. Of course, Blake thought to himself as he crossed to the door, it might not be Avon at all. He might open the door and discover Vila in the corridor with a bottle of something he wanted to share, or Klyn with some documents that needed to be signed. He might be mentally preparing himself for the wrong thing, and Avon would come round the corner as Blake scribbled his signature under a new food order – and find him wrong-footed and awkward. He pressed the door release and stepped back to let whoever it was enter. 

It _was_ Avon – wearing the same closed, noncommittal expression from the message, his hands clasped behind his back as he took two steps forward to carry him across the threshold and into Blake’s cabin. Blake watched him for a moment, allowing himself time to get used to the idea of looking at Avon again, and then he said,

“Don’t you think that was a _bit_ melodramatic?”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say, or what he would have said if he’d had time to think about it – but the tension felt so thick that it seemed unlikely that they’d get anywhere if he didn’t break it first. 

Avon’s eyebrows rose, his chin tilting to one side in a question. Eventually he said,

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” 

He twisted back towards the door, and Blake felt even the artificial calm shatter as his hand shot out to catch Avon’s wrist and draw him back in. 

“ _Avon,_ stay,” he said desperately. “Please.” More words tumbled out after the initial confession. “I never wanted to leave you. I meant to evacuate in the same pod as you, but the Liberator automatics were dead and the force wall was offline. If I hadn’t stayed to protect the ship with the blasters, you and the others might all have died. I couldn’t risk it. Then I crash landed on Epheron and lost my bracelet. But I knew, I _hoped,_ that Orac would find me eventually. I didn’t stop hoping for two years. I built a base _knowing_ that would make me easier to find. And I waited for you, Avon – because without you it all seemed surprisingly pointless. So – please. Stay.”

“Thank you,” Avon said, gently disentangling his wrist from Blake’s fingers. “But … I was just planning on shutting the door.” 

Blake stared at him. 

“Unless,” Avon said, “you want Vila or somebody to walk past and catch me screwing you senseless?”

Blake pretended to consider this. “Yes, I think I could live without it,” he agreed, advancing on Avon as the door swished shut. 

“That’s what I thought,” Avon said, and allowed himself to be caught up in a kiss. Blake pressed him back against the now-closed door, hands cradling Avon’s head as Avon’s mouth opened under his. Avon’s hands clutched desperately in the fabric at the back of Blake’s shirt. 

“So you _are_ staying?” Blake asked him when he thought he could bear to stop kissing Avon for long enough to get the question out.

“Yes,” Avon said, smiling against Blake’s lips. “I believe you’ve persuaded me.”


End file.
